


Waking up in Beacon Hills

by rocksaltandmountainash



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25684237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocksaltandmountainash/pseuds/rocksaltandmountainash
Summary: Kara (OC) is a new friend of the Winchesters, all the way from New Zealand. But what’s a fledgling hunter supposed to do when she gets separated from the boys? Set end of Supernatural Season 7 and during Teen Wolf Season 3, Episode 3.
Kudos: 1





	Waking up in Beacon Hills

You came to slowly, lying prone on something solid and uncomfortable. A headache was banging behind your temples, your limbs were stiff, and you could feel the damp that had seeped through your clothes. Shivering, you rolled onto your back and turning your head, took in your surroundings. You were enveloped in almost total darkness, but a loud wind told you, you were outside.

_Wait, why am I outside?_

Sitting up slowly, you groaned as your joints popped.

_Christ, how long have I been out here?_

Blinking a few times, trying to get your bearings, you squinted into the darkness while you patted down your body, checking for injuries but fortunately finding none.

 _Roman! Roman! Roman!_ your mind chanted at you, bringing with the pounding a mess of racing images. Sat still, you slowly shook your head to try to clear out the fog.

_Cas!…something about Cas?_

You tried to not become frustrated, as you were apt to do, but everything felt like a dream, familiar yet undefined. 

After a few minutes your memories came into focus, and you could see so clearly in your mind’s eye the bone knife that Dean had thrust through Roman’s (No.1 Evil Dick, as you had christened him) neck. A few tense moments had passed before he had began to pulse, warping the air around him. Seeing Dean’s alarmed look had scared you more than the entire job had - evidently this was not part of the plan. As the force around Roman had begun to thrum faster, building to a fever pitch, you’d reached out to pull Cas, standing closest to you, back. He’d thrown a hand up, to save you or smite you, you didn’t know, but his determined face and intense blue eyes were the last thing you’d seen before a burst of light.

If he was going to send me somewhere, he could’ve left a map, you thought peevishly. Getting to your feet somewhat shakily, you began to rifle around the area at the base of the stump, not exactly sure what you were looking for…a sign that the others were close by? Anything to clue you in on your current circumstance really. But you came away empty handed, there was nothing. No note, no bags or camping gear, no sign of life at all.

The realisation that you were alone, in the woods, at night, had you swallowing down the urge to cry. Jamming your hands in your pockets disconsolately you let up a little prayer when your fingers grazed your phone. Hurriedly pulling it out you saw…no bars.

_Perfect. Fucking perfect._

Sam had been on at you about getting your phone set up properly while you were here, and though you’d promised you would - the international roaming charges alone were a killer, it just hadn’t seemed like a priority.

Now you were kicking yourself for not listening to him. Oh! Luckily there were a few pieces of advice from the protective Winchesters you had taken on board. Bending, you extracted a silver bladed knife from the ankle sheath you wore. It wasn’t much but at least you wouldn’t be completely defenceless.

The stump, the inky dark, the mist that carpeted the ground, all of it was giving you a bad feeling. You were 99% sure you’d seen a horror movie with this exact opening.

 _Screw this!_ you decided to head off.

You didn’t know what was going on but you didn’t want to hang around to find out. Maybe you’d run into a late night jogger, or at least find a marked trail. As you walked, you left the canopy of thick treetops and the moonlight peeked through, illuminating your path. You kept the torch app on regardless, last thing you needed was to roll an ankle while roaming around unfamiliar territory. Leaves and small twigs crunched under your boots as you wandered and you stomped for a bit…you loved that sound. You formulated a plan of action as you went;

Step 1) Get the hell out of these creepy woods.  
Step 2) Call everyone and get someone to come pick you up. Simple.

40 minutes later, time enough for your fear to dissipate into straight up irritation, you stood, huffing a few cuss words at a tree you were pretty sure you’d passed twice already. Hearing a low rumble, like far off thunder, you gazed up at the sky. Please do not start raining, you whined miserably. But the sky was clear…causing hope to bloom inside you, you must be close to a road.

_Hell yeah! Plan back on track._

Trudging up a slight hill that levelled out into a small copse of trees and shrubs, you froze. There was that noise again. What if it was an animal? There were bears in America, you recalled worriedly.

_Ahh shit! What do you do for a bear? Play dead or run away?_

You couldn’t outrun a goddamn bear! And your knife wouldn’t offer much protection, nor did you want to get close enough to a wild animal to actually use it. Spinning in a circle, you scanned the area, looking for cover. There wasn’t much - the shrubs barely grazed your calves, and the blood rushing in your ears made it difficult to tell what direction the sound was coming from. The wind picked up, swirling the leaves littering the forest floor as the noise got louder, closer. It sounded less like thunder now, more like growling, causing an instant, visceral reaction in you.

You willed yourself to run but were paralysed as something approached you from the other side of the clearing. Looks like fleeing wasn’t going to be an option, so you’d have to fight your way out - what would a Winchester do? Stand tall (Sam), look cocky (Dean). _You got this_ you told yourself sternly. 

Adrenaline coursed through you as you widened your stance, getting ready for a fight, heart pounding against your chest almost painfully. As the figure moved closer, you spied that it was walking briskly toward you, not lumbering like you assumed a bear would.

Letting out a huge sigh of relief, “Oh thank god” you called out, laughing at your silly mistake.  
“I’m sorry…I thought you were….” your sentence fell away as you got a glimpse of this…thing. It wasn’t an animal, but it definitely wasn’t a person.

  
Before you could process exactly what it was you were seeing, it lunged at you, closing the gap between you in a millisecond. Screeching and gnashing its teeth the creature threw you to the ground.  
Pinning you down, it swiped, scratching your arms as you raised them to protect your head. You gripped the knife tighter as blood dripped into your eyes, obscuring your vision. Grunting through the pain, gathering all the strength you could muster you stabbed at this thing, aiming for its head or neck and praying you landed at least one good hit.

But it was too quick, and much too strong. The knife was knocked from your hand with such force, your arm went with it, smashing into the ground with a thunk. Screaming as pain ricocheted out from your shoulder, you could feel the creature’s full weight on you, constricting your breathing as it raised its arm, preparing to strike again.

Suddenly it stopped, cocking its head to the side like it was listening to something. Taking the opportunity, you squirmed, trying to get enough purchase to kick out and get up. The creature returned its gaze to you, letting out a horrible, high pitched growl inches from your face before it reared back and slashed at you. All the air left your lungs and time stretched out as you felt claws pierce the flesh of your torso and drag across your abdomen.

Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

Rolling to your side you tried to get to your hands and knees but the searing pain of your wrecked shoulder put paid to that and you fell on your ass, which sent another jolt through you, causing you to cry out.

Instead, you scooted awkwardly back, trying desperately to get away from here, before you felt the rough bark of a tree trunk behind you. Huddled, you sat cradling your stomach, unable to focus on anything but the pain. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with dirt and blood. Eventually you tried to calm your breathing.

FUCK! DO SOMETHING! your innate survival instinct was kicking in. Beginning to yank at the shreds of your t-shirt, you intended to make some kind of tourniquet, but your leather jacket was in the way. You considered taking it off, but with the way your shoulder was hanging loosely from the socket, you didn’t dare risk it. Noticing detachedly that your hands were shaking and slick with blood, you realised…  
 _You’re going into shock….you’re losing too much blood._

Sobs wracked your broken body as the thought that you might not make it creeped into your consciousness - this wasn’t a few D.I.Y stitches and a couple of shots of whiskey kind of an injury. This hurt. It hurt bad. It was cold out too, you only now became conscious of how you felt chilled down to your bones. You closed your eyes, tired, exhausted really, like the last few months had finally caught up with you. Slipping, but no longer caring, you remembered falling asleep on Sam’s shoulder a few weeks before, how small and cosy you had felt cuddled up next to the giant of a man. The memory made you smile.

_Hmmm Sam was nice, Dean too._

You were glad you came to the States, happy you’d gotten to know them.

Panic flooded you and your eyes flew open of their own accord at a rustling sound.

_This is it, that ugly motherfucker is coming back and I’m screwed._

Gritting your teeth, you pushed back against the tree, struggling to get to your feet, but ít was impossible, the energy was draining from you with every passing minute. You weren’t a proper hunter, wouldn’t even get the chance to be because now you were going to die alone, in the outdoors no less, you hated the outdoors! And Dean would blame himself, like he did for Bobby, and you wouldn’t be able to tell him it wasn’t his fault. None of it was.

The acid taste of bile rose in your throat and you squeezed your eyes tightly shut.

“Hey. Are you okay?” a deep voice asked, and opening your eyes, you watched as a man rushed toward you, coming to kneel at your side. The immense relief gave you a pain free moment allowing you to shake your head, unable to speak.

“Shit” he let out quietly, peeling the remnants of your shirt away.

“You’re going to be okay, but I need to get you out of here” he registered your dilated pupils while he holstered his gun.

“This is going to hurt” he warned, throwing your right arm around his neck and holding your wrist tightly. Nodding grimly you tried to steel yourself as he slid his other arm under your legs.  
“Ready?” he asked, not getting an answer, you ended the night the way you had started it - passed out.

* * *

Chris Argent carried you to his truck as swiftly as he could, following the track of UV emitters he’d been collecting when your screams had been carried along to him on the wind, inciting him to action.

Throwing the door open he laid you carefully across the back seat and paused to take your pulse, it was weak, but racing. Tearing off his coat, he covered you and picked up the wallet that had fallen out of your jacket, hoping to find your name. He took out 6 or 7 IDs, all law enforcement, all with different surnames, but the first name was always the same. Hearing a faint, ragged breath come from you, he shut the back door, and jumped in the truck.

Gunning the engine he dialled Deaton’s number.  
“Come on, come on”, damn it! Voicemail.

Scott had a set of keys to the animal clinic but he and Derek would still be dealing with Boyd and Cora. It was going to have to be the Hospital, Chris decided, accelerating out of the Preserve.

He talked, actually, shouted at you as he drove through the town, ignoring all speed limits - “We’re almost there”, “Hold on”.

Glancing at you in the rear view mirror he saw you writhing, muttering inaudibly. After what felt like an eternity, but was in fact only 10 minutes he pulled up to the hospital. Slamming the truck into park Chris raced round the side to collect you. As he hoisted you into his arms, you gasped and spoke without opening your eyes

“Dean?……..We got him?…..Dick….” you mumbled.

“Shhh…it’s okay” he comforted, noticing how pale and clammy you were, that your lips wore a blue tinge.

“We need help!” he yelled, bursting through the doors to the E.R.  
Doctors and Nurses, Melissa McCall among them, leapt into action, pulling a gurney over. Chris lowered you gently onto it as they began issuing instructions and calling information to one another, wheeling you down the hall into a triage room.

“What’s her name?” Melissa asked urgently, and Chris wrapped his hand around your wallet, before answering “Kara….her name is Kara”.

* * *

Chris paced as the Doctors worked on you in a flurry of activity, checking your internal organs for damage, and trying to stem the bleeding. He stepped outside just once, only for a few minutes, to call Allison and let her know where he was.

As he took a seat in the corridor outside your room, he tried not to feel bitter that his plan to safely contain the situation had been too little, too late. The kid at the pool was dead, you were in bad shape. He was torn, he wanted desperately to keep his deal with Allison, to keep her safe. But how safe was she truly?

Innocent people were getting hurt and guilt lay heavy like a stone in his chest. Convenient or not, he was an experienced hunter, could use his skills to protect people. He should have agreed to help Scott sooner.  
Chris sighed, knowing this struggle wouldn’t be resolved tonight, it was the same battle he’d been waging with himself since Victoria had died and he almost lost Allison too.

He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans as Melissa came to sit beside him, interrupting his thoughts.

“What happened? Was it…” she lowered her voice, casting a glance around her before continuing “Was it a werewolf?”

“Boyd or Cora” he confirmed. Melissa’s brow creased with worry as she asked the inevitable question “Is she going to turn?”

“Probably not, they aren’t alphas….but we’ll keep an eye on her” he stated determinedly, settling in the chair for a long wait.

* * *

Late the next afternoon you woke with a start, flying bolt upright, looking wildly around the room, eyes unseeing while you struggled manically against something wrapped around your face.  
Melissa had been taking your vitals, alert for any sign of improvement - you’d been out almost 24 hours, and the prognosis hadn’t been good. She laid a hand on your unhurt shoulder, gently pushing you back and speaking calmly,  
“It’s okay, you’re in the Hospital. The tube was just to help you breathe.”

You stilled, locking eyes with the woman warily as you leaned back against the pillow to allow her to detach and remove the tube.

“How are you feeling?” she asked kindly.

“I’m…I don’t know” you stammered, “What happened?” you could remember claws and teeth but not much else. Maybe you’d hit your head and it was all just a vivid, terrifying dream?

“You were attacked by an animal. Your left shoulder is dislocated, and you have some lacerations on your stomach.” Melissa felt terrible as she relayed the details to you, your face twisting in confusion and pain.

“We’ve given you a blood transfusion and some painkillers, but you’ll be feeling a little weak for a while…you just have to rest.”

Nodding, you barely heard her, zoning out as you reeled -

_It wasn’t a dream…so I was in the woods….and Sam and Dean are gone?_

“My friends, are they here? Are they okay?” you croaked while Melissa poured you a drink of water, placing it down and swinging the tray around to be in easy reach.

“I don’t know hun, you were brought in alone” your face fell as she continued, “A local man, Mr. Argent, found you and got you here”.

“Oh” you said in a small voice, biting back tears, “Is he here? The guy… Argent I mean…Can I talk to him?”

“Sure. I’ll let him know you’re awake. And the Doctor will come to check on you soon too okay?” She patted your arm comfortingly before leaving the room.

While you waited you fiddled with the admission bracelet around your wrist, taking note of the name printed there. “Kara Hastings” which one was that again? Ah, that’s right, a DEA agent, and fortuitously one of your fakes with health insurance.  
Hopefully that was the only ID you’d had on you, you’d be in serious trouble if anyone found your growing collection. You scoffed at your own stupidity, you were already in serious trouble - lying in a hospital, hurt, alone.

Resting your arm across your stomach gingerly, you were surprised to find it didn’t hurt, until you saw an IV poking into your hand. That explained the lack of pain, and your grogginess, why everything felt so weird.

* * *

You looked up as a handsome man, who you vaguely recognised, entered your room,

“Hello” he greeted warmly, introducing himself as Chris.

“I’m Kara” you replied, trying but failing not to stare. He was tall, lean, and a little dangerous looking, a lethal trifecta for you. His face was rugged, covered with a day or two’s scruff, but his eyes…they were… Well shit, they were possibly the sexiest thing you’d ever seen, a light blue, they were hooded in a way that seemed the very definition of bedroom eyes to you. And…they were currently peering out at you from beneath eyebrows that were raised in bemusement. Shit! I’m totally ogling him!

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed, and your eyes widened at the sight of his shirt stained crimson “Is that mine?”

Chris too looked down, seeing the patches you were referring to.

“Oh. Yes”

He’d forgotten about them, hadn’t wanted to leave and change, least something happened while he was gone.

“And you found me?”

He nodded.

“Well…um… Thank you. For saving me.” you gestured to the chair, wishing you could think of something better to say, something to explain the depth of your gratitude for this man’s actions.

Recalling how tired you’d felt, how you’d let yourself sink into the darkness, you knew you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him, but you didn’t know how to articulate that or how’d you’d repay him for it. But your measly thanks didn’t seem to faze him as he sat down.

“What were you doing in the woods?” his question put you instantly on guard.

But your usual defenses were a little frayed by the heavy dose of morphine they’d pumped you full of, so you blurted out “Looking for my friends”.

Dubiously, and observing your reaction closely, he asked “Sure you weren’t hunting?”

Surprise flew across your face before you recovered, plastering on what you hoped was an innocent expression.

Choking out “What?…I..uh..I don’t know what you mean” your voice came out more high pitched than you would have liked and you mentally slapped yourself for not being smoother with your lies, even to your own ears it sounded like complete bullshit.

Chris just chuckled as he extracted your wallet from his pants, thumbing through the IDs.

 _Please don’t be a cop, please don’t be a cop_ , you watched him, trying to keep your cool.

“I recognise Frank’s work” he told you casually, and you couldn’t help but grin at the mention of the curmudgeonly old man.  
Dean had seemed fit to burst with pride when Frank had agreed to kit you out. Apparently, according to Dean, that meant he liked you, though you had a suspicion that Frank mostly just tolerated people.

Chris cleared his throat as he stood, the sound snapping you back to reality, “Well I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll let you get some rest”.

You wanted to protest but the haze of the drugs was too thick and you managed only to mumble “Okay…come back ‘kay” before nuzzling into your pillow and floating back to sleep.

* * *

Sun streaming through the window, warming the room, woke you up the next morning. Yawning, you began to stretch, stopping abruptly at the pain sliding across your belly. Your shoulder throbbed in the sling and you wiggled your fingers, trying to get the blood flowing.

When you noticed your bladder screaming at you, you dragged your aching body to the small bathroom in the corner, enjoying how cooler it was in there with the tiles and little ceiling fan.

Glancing in the mirror while washing your hands, you got a shock, an extremely pale face stared back, with dry, cracked lips and grey shadows under your eyes. You looked nothing like yourself. Leaning toward the mirror you saw your jaw was swelling on one side, a dark mark blossoming there, and lifting your shirt you found bandages bound tight around you.

Without thinking, you undid the pins holding them in place and began to unravel them, panting as you maneuvered awkwardly with your one good arm. You were gripped by a need to see the wounds, to know if they looked as bad as they felt. When the wrapping was removed, discarded on the counter, you carefully peeled off the tape that was holding down layers of gauze.

Taking a deep breath before you returned to the mirror… _Jesus_ …they were bad. Four distinct marks ran diagonally across you, starting under your ribs and ending just above your hip bone. Thick black sutures pulled the edges of your swollen, angry looking skin together.

Turning, you saw your entire back was covered in bruises, like an oil painting of blue and black blotches. You could only regard the damage for a few minutes before you felt nauseous. Replacing the gauze on your stomach you lightly pressed the tape back down, before doing a shabby job of rewrapping your bandages.

Shuffling back to bed you tried not to feel disheartened, but as you lay, curled on your side, alone and sore, you couldn’t stop the tears from forming.

Every time you shut your eyes you saw the grotesque thing that attacked you, pallid, slimy skin deformed with cuts or scars, weird milky eyes sunk deep in its head. It looked other worldly, no discernible nose, just small slits for nostrils. Its lips had been torn or burnt away, leaving it with a permanent snarl.

You began to cry…not softly either, the big, gasping, gulping sobs of someone releasing all their pent up pain. Months worth of sadness spilled out of you; you wept miserably - for your Mum, for Bobby, for Sam and Dean….for yourself. As much as you cared about the Winchesters you’d never let go like this in front of them, aware, as you were, that they were hurting too, that losing Bobby was a much bigger hit to them than it was to you.

The boys were suffering a huge loss, the glaring, thorny absence of a man who had done so much for them, known and cared for them for years.  
Your grief for the lost opportunity, the chance to really know Bobby that had been cruelly snatched away just seemed….insignificant in comparison.

In fact, you had been secretly thankful for Dean’s single-minded mission to end Roman, and for Sam’s struggles with visions of Lucifer. Both Winchesters had given you something else to focus on to distract yourself, allowing you to indulge in one of your default tactics when faced with anything remotely emotionally distressing - avoidance. It probably wasn’t healthy, but man, did it get you through. Until you hit a breaking point, like now.

Lost in your downward spiral of thoughts and tears, you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat from the foot of your bed.  
Sitting up slowly, you saw a Sheriff looking awkward.

“Sorry” you cringed, knowing you could win prizes for your ugly crying face.  
He held out a box of tissues, waiting while you wiped your nose.

“I’m Sheriff Stilinski…I’m sorry to do this now, but I need to get your statement.”

“No problem, I was just…well… I wasn’t doing anything” you attempted a little humour, pathetically grateful for the company.

Composing yourself, you answered the Sheriff’s questions, lying through your teeth; you and your friends were passing through town, you’d gotten lost on a run, you were attacked by an animal, no, you didn’t know what kind, it all happened so fast, it was too dark.

The Sheriff finished up by leaving his card, telling you to call if you remembered anything else. You felt more positive as he left, maybe it was the thrill of lying so thoroughly to an officer of the law (the novelty of which still hadn’t wore off for you). Or maybe it was because his words had triggered your memory.

_A phone! You have a phone! God Kara, how slow are you?_

Banging open the bedside drawers you rummaged through, before searching the cupboard, gleefully pulling out the bag labelled “Patient Property” you found there.

Unlocking the phone, you frowned when you didn’t see any waiting texts or missed calls. Checking you had a signal, and that you hadn’t accidentally put the damned thing on airplane mode again, you pulled up your contacts and dialled Dean’s number.

Your leg bounced impatiently as you listened to the ringing…nothing. Okay….fending off the bad feeling you were getting, you tried Sam’s number, but got his voicemail too. Leaving a quick message, explaining what had happened, you chucked your phone down and climbed back into bed, telling yourself that they’d call, that they’d come and get you.

 _I’ll just wait here, heal up and be back with them in no time._  
Dozing off, you repeated the words like a mantra, squashing down the panic that was brewing inside you.

* * *

After a few days spent recuperating, doing not much more than sleeping and occasionally shuffling from your room to the patient’s lounge, you were restless, isolation making you grumpy.

Your stomach was still tender but your shoulder seemed better, you could move it much more freely now. Walking back to your room after taking in some trash T.V. you saw Dr Hilyard and Melissa chatting at the door, the latter smiling broadly at you.

“Hello, looks who’s up” the Doctor greeted, following you in. Grabbing your chart she read aloud,

“Things are looking good Kara. No signs of infections, no damage to organs or nerves, you’re one lucky lady”.

You hmmm’d in doubt, not feeling particularly lucky, wincing as you lay down on the bed.

“I just need to check your sutures okay?” she asked as she approached “May I?”.

“Knock yourself out Doc” you lifted so she could roll your pyjama top up. Laying back you held your shirt over your chest, covering your breasts and keeping it out of the way as the Dr. removed the gauze pads.

Thankfully, yesterday she had directed you didn’t need the constricting bandages any longer, and you’d been feeling pretty good today, like you could actually take a deep breath.

“Wow” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“What? What’s wrong?” you exclaimed, craning your neck to see, but thinking better of it, you hadn’t looked at your stomach since you first checked it out, the visuals in your head alone were enough to make you queasy.

“It’s nothing, you’re just healing faster than I expected”

“But that’s good right?”

“Of course, just surprising. Okay, Nurse McCall?” Melissa came in from where she’d been waiting near the door.

“Will you please clean and cover these. If you’ll excuse me Kara, I’ve got rounds to finish”

“Sure ‘night Doc”.

Melissa began to gather the supplies she needed, before coming over to you. Unlike the Dr. she didn’t cover her shock as well, but you didn’t notice from your supine position, waiting for the sting of the cleaning solution you’d become accustomed to.

Melissa worked quickly, automatically, gently dabbing on a layer of antiseptic ointment before putting on a fresh dressing. She swiftly said goodnight and departed, leaving you to wonder if everything was ok, she’d usually talk with you in the evenings.

Must be busy tonight, you thought, hearing her footsteps fade as she rushed down the hall. Darting into the closest empty room, Melissa pulled out her phone and fired off a text;  
 **She’s healing fast. What do we do now?**

* * *

Chris and Scott strode through the hospital doors, having arrived in the parking lot only moments apart. Melissa clocked them and waved for them to follow her, heading to the supply room in search of a little privacy.  
When Scott closed the door she hurriedly revealed what she had seen ;

“I don’t understand… You said she wouldn’t turn”.

Chris nodded, “She can’t of, Boyd and Cora aren’t Alphas”.

“Well something’s happening, her wounds look months old, and her shoulder is almost completely healed”

“Another wolf?” Chris suggested to Scott, who paused, thinking,

“I don’t think so…I didn’t catch any scent I didn’t recognise”.

The three stood, feeling uneasy, unsure of the events unfolding this past week. Stiles’ theory that there was another deadly player in Beacon Hills was rapidly gaining traction, but Melissa hadn’t discovered any of signs of an attempted ‘threefold death’ on you.

“Scott, could you tell from her scent if she was a wolf?” Chris asked.

“Maybe…”

“Well whatever you’re planning, you need to do it now” Melissa warned “She’s being discharged tomorrow”.

* * *

Propped up in bed, a romance novel lay open on the tray in front of you (the patients lounge didn’t offer many literary choices), but you’d only made it a few pages in before being consumed by everything.

All week you’d been wracking your brain, thinking in dizzying circles and achieving nothing but swelling your worries to epic proportions. No ideas on how to track down the Winchesters had come to mind, and you were left feeling useless and inept.

That small voice in your head had, of course, told you that the boys simply didn’t want you around, that they found you to be an annoyance. But something in your gut told you that wasn’t the case, and you’d managed to banish the idea to the dark recesses of your mind.

On top of all that there was some monster running around the woods trying to kill people, and even with your limited experience, you knew that generally monsters didn’t grow a conscience and just, you know, throw in the murder towel.

When the Doctor had announced you’d be discharged tomorrow, you’d been so glad that it had taken you a few minutes to grasp that you had nowhere to go, prompting you to stop vacillating and form a plan because there was definitely a job that needed doing here.

You’d since arrived at the conclusion that you needed help.

Aside from your current physical troubles, you were smart enough to know you were woefully unprepared to not only take down the thing in the woods but also find 2 missing hunters. Hunters well skilled in going incognito, with a list of aliases longer than your arm and last seen murdering the linchpin of the entire Leviathan operation.

You were good, but you weren’t a fucking maniac.

So you were pleased when Chris Argent knocked on your door, he was just the person you needed to see.

“Want some company?”

“Sure” you beamed, finding he was just as good looking when you weren’t doped out of your skull.

Scott waited outside the door, concealed from your view, honing in on your scent. He left a few minutes later to assuage his Mom’s fears, knowing she’d had grown fond of you, and that the feeling was reciprocated.

During the obligatory small talk, Chris scanned you. The colour had returned to your cheeks, and the swelling in your jaw had gone, all that remained was a small yellowish bruise. You were beautiful, he realised, the observation catching him off guard.

Chris felt his phone vibrate, receiving a text from Scott:  
 **She’s not a werewolf.**

He visibly relaxed while you tried to come up with a graceful way to steer the conversation toward the subject you most wanted to talk about.

“So… you’re a hunter?” you cringed at your own verbal clumsiness.

Chris was surprised you even remembered the other night.

“I’m retired”.

“From what I’ve heard that’s a rare thing” you chided and though he laughed, he didn’t elaborate, so you tried again to draw him out;

“Considering you wander the woods at night with a .45, I’d say retiring isn’t really your thing?”

“It’s complicated” was all he would give you, and you nodded in understanding. If your time with the Winchesters had taught you anything, it was that the hunter life just got murkier and murkier the longer you were in it.

“Were you hunting the thing I saw?” your voice dropped despite there being no one around to overhear you.

“Were you?” Chris deflected, stalling while he puzzled over what had attacked you - if it wasn’t a werewolf.

“No…Well yes but…” you took a moment, collecting yourself.

“I mean, I was on a job, but not in the woods. Something happened…I just… ended up there.”

“What was the job?” he worried that news of Derek’s growing pack had reached other, potentially less understanding hunters.

“Um…taking out a Leviathan” you told him quietly, flooring him.

He’d heard rumours of Leviathan but never come across one, no one he knew ever had, and he’d written them off as one of many scary, but ultimately benign, legends.

He wondered if that accounted for series of recent deaths, but he didn’t recall anything about sacrifices by Leviathans - he’d need to do more research.

“A Leviathan in Beacon Hills?” he spoke, unaware he was doing so.

“What? No, I was in…” you stopped, guessing he didn’t know about ‘Angel mojo’, as Dean termed it, and you certainly couldn’t explain…you barely understood it yourself.

“The Leviathan wasn’t here.” you reassured him. As you watched him, you could almost see the gears turning. Taking a breath, you decided to bite the bullet;  
“Listen Mr. Argent…I need a favour…..”


End file.
